Dark Souls: The forgotten Warrior
by Shimmy748
Summary: There is no escape from the curse, but there is hope. Cast away and forgotten all undead are guided to it regardless of their past or ability for one simple reason, to break the curse. But all is not what it appears to be as one undead ventures deeper and deeper into his quest to undo his fate, the fate of the accursed.
1. Chapter 0

**Prologue**

_"What do the men want dad?"_

_"Go with your sister."_

_"Dad but-"_

_"I said go and stay quiet, don't any of you say a word."_

_"Harjo just let them pass their-"_

_"Their coming towards us so stay quiet while I see what they want."_

_"Careful dad."_

* * *

_"I promise I will be back soon."_

_"You said that last time."_

_"I know but Tyrus he-"_

_"I don't care about him I care about you! He can rot in hell for all I care, you shouldn't even be under his branch-"_

_"I wasn't I was under Letour's."_

_"I know but...just come back...to me."_

_"I will I promise."_

* * *

_"Are you lost little girl?."_

_"What are you doing she's just a another peasant in this forsaken land."_

_"If I leave her she's going to die, hell we almost died getting here I'm taking her until we get out of here."_

_"If she slows us down I will-"_

_"Don't worry Dennis she won't."_

* * *

_"The first flame. Bright and strong. Warm and full of life, this is what you will seek. A bearer such as yourself, knows not why, but what, wandering a great distance, with each step forgetting why you are, but you will keep going. For this is your fate, the fate of the accursed, but by then non will have meaning and you won't even care, you'll be just a random soul lost in an abyss of darkness, forever seeeking fire, forever seeking flame."_

Those words they echo over and over in my head, beating constantly in my mind as my memory grows fuzzy and my senses get dulled by this horrid curse. I can't fight it, I feel it taking over the longer I wander, it's all I have and all that I've known. Faces once so vibrant, blur and skirt in my memory, fading like the embers of a fire, I can't fight.

The rain soaks me, but I don't care. My finger lightly taps on the puddle I lay upon, but I don't care. I try recapturing my life, but it all melts into nothingness as I feel my very essence slip from me, but what remains is this land. The one I see in my visions, this land that has my answers.

I do care about that.

Once more I lift my head and wander.


	2. Chapter 1: Reborn

**Chapter 1: Reborn**

The land is strange, a twisted purgatory is the only way to describe it, encapsulated by towering cliffs, where hills seemingly float from the ground and lead to a bottomless abyss, all while an unholy source illuminates the deep hollow a shade of blue, but the strange land isn't odd, at least not to him. Infact one would need to have any sorts of thoughts to think such things.

Getting up from the pillared structure he could feel the coldness from within, a dark ominous chill that beckons him to find warmth. It's an odd sensation that isn't natural, yet a sense of familiarity that harbors only one goal, the curse.

He steps forward feeling his foot slightly sink in as he leaves the rock structure, steping on the ground composed of lose dirt held together by the collection of wild weeds spurting from underneath. He ventures further into the purgatory aimlessly walking, weaving and navigating through the odd formations without a single thought, hearing moans and unwordly sounds the deeper he ventures, but the fear a normal man would have felt is lost on him.

The strange place isn't odd, the blue light isn't frightening, neither are the rotting corpses, but instead he feels one thing.

The curse.

It's all that remains, every action or inaction is that of the curse, there are no more thoughts, no more worries, nothing but the curse. And with the curse comes one desire. Warmth. It is what he seeks and fire is what draws him.

He stops midway seeing an organge light flutter and flourish among the dead sea of blue and black there lies a cottage, lonely and odd, but it is the warmth he desires so he ventures towards it. Opening the door he hears voices, old and withered as a flash of memory strike him and he has his first thoughts that he can recall, he gazes upon three elderly women, their voices are indistinguishable from one another, two seated around a table and the last piering into the fire place, he's not frightened nor is he concerned, but what shocks him are the small flickers of thought in his mind, tiny but nevertheless there, he watches the three as they speak words he doesn't understand from the door, relishing the newfound commodity he once lost.

But regardless, it's just noise to him as he watches with a blank stare...that is untill one pulls a firgure, a rather percurlier firgure, from her long robe, which he mindlessly takes, and like that an unwavering sensation courses through his body to stare into it. The dark firgure forms a face unfamiliar to him, but the longer he stares the more his thoughts begin to form, where once small flickers become large flashes and flashes form into solids, the sensation grows intense as the crackles and laughs from the old lady begin forming into something he can comprehend.

The feeling is ungodly and intense the firgure looms into a ball of light, as the deeper he looks into the firgure, the more he sees. It's face changes as he stares at it, seeing himself, seeing his past, seeing his life, a life he lost long ago, forgotton in his mind, the sensation grows as the world around him forms. His hands shake from the intensity as he feels everything, his eyes finally register what he sees, his ears understand what he hears, it's too much when he suddenly plunges the firgure in his chest trying to reclaim it all.

And for a brief moment he does.

But in a flash his life is gone and his memories flicker from existence, but now his mind is clear and his thoughts are once again. He stares at the old sages as they finish their crackles.

Their adorned in worn out robes, dyed a blood red withered from age, much like them themselves, their faces sunken and used, deep lines formed from their advanced age. They sit carelessly around looking intently at him, it registers in his mind their waiting for a response.

"What?" The word sounds foreign and strange to him, as he smack his lips in shock, it's his first word he has spoken since the curse took hold of him, well that he can recall.

"Your name, you remember your name do you, undead?" One speaks rather annoyed as he grabs his mouth feeling the new sensation of speaking.

"Oh, right." He says sensing their annoyance. "It's...Machru."

Machru, he is sure that's his name, but there is a sense of...uncertainty, it's an odd thought, knowing one's own name as an accomplishment.

"Well, at least he remembers his name." One of the ladys snips out apatheticly as the others nod their head.

"Do you remember anything about your past, undead, who were you before?" The other ask, while her young servant places a plate of food infront of her.

"I...I don't know." He words out.

"Pity." The same one speaks as she sips on her soup. "Thank you Milibeth. We knew of your arrival, that old dear has a way of sending creatures like you, upstairs you will find relics of a past, your past, one of before the curse, Mililbeth will show you."

The old lady says pointing towards the young maiden, who's also adorned in a blood red robe, but much vibrant as her's aren't worn from age. She bows her head and with a quick motion and a quiet, "yes follow me please." Heads up stairs where he slowly follows.

"In this chest your sword and shield lay rest, while your garb is in this one." She speaks refined and kind, a far cry from the senile ladys she cares for, as she lays the two chest infront of him. "You outta change and get ready quickly, the fire keepers don't like guest."

"I will." He musters out. "Fire keepers? What is this place? And why am I here?"

"Young undead, those are many questions where you will find few answers here." She speaks softly. "But further up north there is a place where undead go and rest, it's called, Majula, there is a herald, draped in emerald, who lives there she has the answers you seek. But for now please change the fire keepers don't like to be kept waiting."

* * *

Draped in hard leather he feels a tinge of...familiarity, as do the sword and the shield, but at the sametime it feels distant and cold, nevertheless he adorns the armor and makes his way down where the old fire keepers rest.

Coming down one notices and crackles before she begins her speech. "Why if it isn't our lastest undead? A warrior I see, but a lost soul I feel."

"Lost indeed." Another adds.

"You know who I am?" He ask feeling a tinge of hope they might shed light on his past.

"Young undead we know all undead who come through here."

"Tell me who I was before." He ask leaning forward intently.

"Nothing." The old lady answers sternly. "Once branded you are one with the dark, your past, your future is lost to the shadow of darkness, many have come before you and many will come after, and like many have tried all will eventually fail. There is no point in knowing your past for in time it will be lost."

"But I think now, why can't I know?." Machru speaks confused and lost.

"You will in time young undead, now head off to the North, there is a place where all undead go to rest, a place unlike any place you will encounter in this decripted land, there is where you will start your journey."

"What journey?" He ask.

"The journey of which why you are here."

"The curse." The words leave his mouth as a realization sets in as he remembers why he came, and for what.

"Exactly." The old lady states with a grin. "Now go, but remember, hold on to your souls for without them you'll go hollow...who am I Kidding you'll lose them over and over again."

As he leaves their crackles can still be heard through their hut.

* * *

There's a calm breeze, a relaxing scene from the hellish place he came from, the town they called Majula he can see. A place where undead go to rest, a place unlike any other in this decripted land, and out in the distance there stands a firgure drape in emerald overlooking th endless sea.

Maybe she has the answers he seek.


	3. Chapter 2: Bearer of the Curse

**Chapter 2: Bearer of the curse**

The breeze is nice, soothing almost, his garb flaps weightlessly against it as he makes his way toward the young woman standing next to one of the willowed out trees near the edge.

She stays nearly motionless, if it weren't for her constant kicking or slight rocking side to side she would have been frozen; staring aimlessly out to the sea watching the sun's reflection bounce of the crashing waves. It's a beautiful sight for sure, one that sores from this land, but one that is totally useless to him.

Machru approaches her cautious and weary trying not to startle her as she makes no indication she's aware of his presence, "probably lost in thought" he reasons. But before he utters a single world her monotonous voice cuts through the wind.

"Are you…the next monarch?" She says, words soft and fragile,"Or… Merely a pawn of fate? Bearer of the curse…I will remain by your side. Till this frail hope shatters… Take this with you. May it ease your journey. Go on, and see the King. He who made Drangleic what it once was; he who peered at the essence of the soul. King Vendrick."

It catches him by surprise, as she swiftly turns and hands him a flask housing a warm glowing golden substance, he calmly puts it in his pouch as she quickly turns back, remaining silent and still.

A moment or two pass before any words are spoken, as she remains quiet and disinterested staring back to the sea. "King Vendrick, is that who I shall seek? The king of this land has the cure that I seek?" His words are meant with the faint sound of the waves crashing against the cliff before he catches a faint sigh.

"Young undead, soul pale and weak, the king is not who you seek, but his throne,alas your soul is far too fragile, seek larger more powerful souls, than you shall seek the king." The Emerald sighs once again void of emotion and care.

"I don't seek to slay the king, for power I don't crave, but rather undo this wretched curse that has fallen among me. If the king has the cure, than I will seek him." Machru mouths out angrily at her aloofness.

"Bearer of the curse, the journey to the king is treacherous and dangerous, far too much for a soul as pale as yours, speak among the people of this town first before you begin your journey. Some offer sound advice, others not so much, for the undead come and rest here;I don't see you any different."

She speaks volumes through her fragile voice as Machru nods off, upset and slightly confused, but regardless in a quiet huff he heads towards the center of town where he spots a gnastly green burly man, sitting along a structured wall slowly shaking his head.

He makes his way towards the green man, hoping he might provide insight on this strange land.

"Greetings I am Marchu, the maiden drape in Emerald pointed me in this direction, as I ask about this land." His words are crisp and orderly, as he extends a hand towrds the man.

"I am Lenigrast the blacksmith, and in there is my work bench." The blacksmith motions towards the building, totally ignoring Machru's outstretched hand, his hands shielded by large gloves obviously used for his smithing. "But alas, I've been locked out of my livelihood, so I sit like a vagabond, contemplating how I shall proceed."

"Quite the pickle." The warrior dryly adds surveying the strudy structure. "There's a window right there, why not climb through it and fetch your gear, than break the lock or make a new door."

"Umph! I am no ruffian!" The blacksmith scoffs out disgustingly. "A man shouldn't be sneaking around one's own dwelling or any for the matter, especially when this predicament is cast upon himself!." He adds mightily.

"You lost your key?"

"Not lost, stolen, I left my workshop searching for my witless daughter, and when I came back it was locked and the key gone. Someone must've come and stolen the key."

"Who would steal a key?" Machru ask confused and slightly skeptical figuring the blacksmith's memory has just began to fade.

"A name I can't think of, but I have a sense of who." Lenigrast speaks. "She's a an old thing, a transtic hag, practically begging individuals to buy from her. I saw her wondering these parts before I left, where she gone I have not a clue."

Lenigrast slumped his head indefeat slowly shaking it in disapproval. Machru took pity on the man, for he craved a simple life and seemed honorable to say the least, that's when a warm feeling coursed through his stomach, one similar to that of the old ladies from earlier. It was an odd sensation, a slight tingle if he were to describe it as he looked down at the man. Murmurs and mumbles coursed through his mind, he couldn't distinguish whether they belonged to the blacksmith or were in his head. It countined for a few seconds before in a flash the sensation dissipated into nothingness and he returned to a state of normal.

"I'll retrieve your key." The warrior said, placing his fist over his heart. "You have my word."

"Well than, a man's word is only as good as long as the deed he speaks of is done, but if you do bring me back my key I shall entertain you with my services young warrior. Now go fetch me my key, chop chop!"

With that the two nod and the bearer of the curse heads further into town seeking other inhabitants.

There are three other buildings which he firgures house the rest of the population, so he sets off to the first and closest to the large entrance. Entering it he finds it houses a one man, a man of wares and armor, one who calls himself, Mauglin the armour, fittingly.

He speaks of his town, Volen he says, a place for merchants and swindlers and a heaven for wanderers. A place where he couldn't succed and sought riches here, losing count of how long it's been. Though he's a timid merchant he's a rather good-hearted fellow, but through the warrior's eyes he can see that the curse has taken hold of him, and what remains is his passion for wares and armor. Machru shakes his head and takes pity on the young man, it's a reminder of a fate in-stored for him.

The second is a mansion locked and unopenable, so he makes his way toward the last house, having to avoid the large gaping hole in the Earth. Opening the door there is nothing but a lonely cat, sitting longly on the table, stretching it's limbs and meowing lazily probably waiting for its master to arrive.

As he prepares to close the door and seek other residents a voice resinates from within the house, mocking and witty. Taken by shock he flings the door open and draws his sword where he peers into the cat, who smiles smugly.

"Am I mad or is there someone lurking here?" He mutters scanning the room.

"We all are mad here, heheh." The cat speaks in the same mocking and witty manner. "It's the essence of this land, madness and decay which I assume brought you here in the first place."

"I suppose it is." Machru mutters seathing his sword.

"Yes in deed. I'm shaquilor, the wise or the sweet which ever you see best suits me, I've been watching this land for, gods know how long, watching kingdoms rise and fall, some from the littlest of things others in a blaze of glory, quite entertaining if you ask me. But enough about me I figure you're here to break the curse, huh? Just about every undead comes to do so, but come think of it few do ever return though once they venture off, they seem to...disappear, hehehe. I don't see why you'll be different!" The cat snickers out changing her postion to the wall where she begins scratching it. "But I do say, you have the most pleasant smell from all the undead that've passed through. Maybe that young girl was right about hope and what not, heheh, maybe you are fit to be the next monarch, but what do I know I'm just a cat."

"A talking one." He muses out dryly which garners a chuckle from the lonely cat.

"Strangness is a part of Drangleic, my dear. Now scurry on it's almost time for my nap."

* * *

From the bonfire he watches the setting sky set into one littered with sparkling diamonds pressed against a lovely black canvas. It's captivating to say the least. And in this moment he lets his mind wonder. The euphoria of being able to explore one's mind is unmatchable, one that isn't easily explained, it's like...breathing. Essential but done so effortlessly no one pays much thought to.

Regardless however, the day was strange, but enjoyable, well as enjoyable as it could possibly get, considering he can recall what had transpired. It's his first memory since the curse and the only one's he has, so based merely on that the day was good enough. Though it brings him to why he's even here, to rid himself of the curse, while that knight who sits atop that monument says it's impossible he firgures it's all he got. Either way, cure or not, he is cursed and wallowing in sorrow isn't worth the precious time he has left.

The journey he must partake doesn't frighten him.

But the strange sensations that strike at random do.

It's almost like...a memory, a connection to something he lost long ago. The people he sees within this town each conjure a sensation of...warmth he can't explain...a sense of familiarity? But the feeling is strange nevertheless and foreign, maybe it's envy he feels, envious that they retain their past, while he wallows in a foggy abyss in his mind. He wasn't hollowed, for hollwed are irreversible, but then why can't he remember anything?

It's a wonderous mystery to him, one that the the knight says should sway the thought of misery away and keep hollowing further from thought. But it still gnaws at him.

So he countines watching the sky, where a diamond falls through the sky, leaving behind a tail of it's bright essence. Out of nowhere he hears feet shuffling and dirt crushing where he finds the herald sitting a mere few feet perched on the largest rock. At first he thinks she's staring at him, but soon learns it's the fire she stares so lovingly at.

She sits in silence not uttering a single word, but rather watching the eternal flame burn constant and bright, flickering warmly off her face; a smooth and pretty one he might add half covered by her amber hair and adorned in a perpetual frown. That's when the odd sensation returns, stonger and uncontroling, it's a feeling that can't be described but it brings out a deep emotion one he can't quite explain, as his mind is doused in fog his body trying to see though it. Though, She still sits there, watching the fire.

"The night sky is pleasant, more pleasant than that fire, look above and view the heavens for the gods painted a beautiful picture." Machru says hoping it rids himself of the odd sensation. After a pause he expects her to answer with silence, but out of no where, she speaks, refined and monotone.

"The sky doesn't bring us life, fire in its finite beauty does. It is the essence of life, it is what we seek when we are cold, when we are hungry or when friends gather to share a tale of good fortune and humor, but every flame, ever so bright, will one day wither away to ash, and be blown away, lost to the seeds of time. That is true beauty, that is true life." She answers never breaking contact with the flame.

"Poetic." Machru answers. "That is poetic not beauty, for beauty is what we marvel at externally, poetic is that of which we marvel in our minds."

"There isn't much to differentiate." The herald says uninterested and unamused.

"Yes there is, just because something is poetic doesn't make it beautiful. For beauty is what when can see. Poetic is that of which we feel. A poem is poetic because it is written not seen, a picture is beauty because we see it."

"Words from a poet I presume." She retorts slightly surprised at his answer.

"Words of myself, I pondered these thoughts ever since I regained my thought, from the simplest choice to the most complex riddles; I think." Machru says looking at her, but she doesn't move or acknowledge his glare as she stays put watching the fire.

"The journey of which you will take is hard and fit of a monarch, if you aren't the next monarch, this land will shallow you whole. But I will remain by your side, till hope has fully withered away." The herald curtly remarks ruining his moment of brillance.

"You know that's pretty romantic, if I didn't know any better I would say you are quite fond of me, just juding by how you talk." The warrior jokes which ganers a scowl from the woman as he coils in regret. "Uhh, did you hear that? Please forget I said anything."

"Bearer of the curse rest, for tomorrow you begin your perilous journey." With that the herald leaves silent and elegant as her firgure gets lost in the night.

He watches her leave curious and befuddled. When a feeling of pain and sorrow course through his body, it's strong and unwavering as his mind tries producing an image, but instead just flickers in his mind. One of blood and misery, screams of agony swallow his ears as he feels heat begin to build, but what frightens him is it's familiarity. It feels...like a part of him. It takes hold of him as his body sores and numbs before in a flash it all stops.

Sudden and worried he breathes ragged and wicked before he stares once again up on the sky when he soon closes his eys and waits for sleep to claim him.


End file.
